passage to the invalid.

"Well, what now, Avena?" faintly asked the Countess, who read news in
Lady Foljambe's face.

There was no time to break it very gradually, for Lady Foljambe knew
that the Duke's impatience would not brook delay.

"Dame," she said, shortly, "my Lord your son--"

"Bring him in!" cried the Countess, in a voice of ecstasy, without
allowing Lady Foljambe to finish her sentence. How it was to end she
seemed to have no doubt, and the sudden joy lent a fictitious strength
to her enfeebled frame. "Bring him in! my Jean, my darling, my little
lad! Said I not the lad should never forsake his old mother? Bring him
in!"

Lady Foljambe drew back to allow the Duke to enter, for his step was
already audible. He came in, and stood by the bed--tall, upright,
silent.

"My Jean!" cried the dying mother.

"Madame!" was the answer, decorous and icy.

"Kiss me, my Jean! Why dost thou not kiss me? Lad, I have not seen
thee all these weary years!"

The Duke, in a very proper manner, kissed the weak old hand which was
stretched out towards him. His lips were warm, but his kiss was as cold
as a kiss well could be.

"Madame," said the Duke, mindful of the proprieties, "it gives me
indescribable grief to find you thus. I am also deeply distressed that
it should be impossible for me to remain with you. I expect news from
Bretagne every day--almost every hour--which I hope will summon me back
thither to triumph over my rebellious subjects, and to resume my throne
in victory. You will, therefore, grant me excuse if it be impossible
for me to do more than kiss your hand and entreat your blessing."

"Not stay, my Jean!" she said, in piteous accents. "Not stay, when thou
hast come so far to see me! Dost thou know that I am dying?"

"Madame, I am infinitely grieved to perceive it. But reasons of state
are imperative and paramount."

"My Lord will pardon me for observing," said the Archbishop's voice,
"with a royal kinsman of his own, that God may grant him many kingdoms,
but he can never have but one mother."

The Duke's answer was in his haughtiest manner. "I assure you of my
regret, holy Father. Necessity has no law."

"And no compassion?"

"Jean, my Jean! Only one minute more--one minute cannot be of
importance. My little lad, my best-loved! lay thy lips to mine, and say
thou lovest thine old mother, and let me bless thee, and then go, if it
must be, and I will die."

Amphillis wondered